


the tea party

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen, Human AU, timeline crossing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: Sometimes, Bellamy would catch things in the mirror.





	the tea party

Sometimes, Bellamy would catch things in the mirror. Shadows of his reflection that didn’t seem right. A lag, almost. A figure, a shape, someone there that wasn’t really there.

He burned sage in the bathroom. Lit candles, asked loudly and clearly, for whoever was there to please leave, there was nothing for them here.

He was on high alert, watching carefully for the next week or so, and relaxed when it seemed to be done. It was a long stretch of time before anything happened again, and it was a doozy. He was brushing his teeth, bent over the sink, a liberal froth worked up.

A little speck of his flying out as he took the brush out of his mouth, hitting the mirror, causing a ripple.

He looked down to spit, and then whipped his gaze back up, catching up to what happened. Bellamy wiped his mouth off on his hand, reached towards the mirror. Pressed the glass, which remained firm. He stepped back, watching his reflection, the reflection of the room.

Everything as it should be.

He started brushing his teeth in the kitchen sink after that.

* * *

 

It was a hot humid night that gave him the nightmare.

The dream.

Whatever it was, it was sickly pink and made him wake up at 3 in the morning with his stomach lurching. He had the taste of smoke in his mouth, couldn’t rinse it out. He couldn’t get to sleep after, sheets too damp, room too warm, so he padded out to the living room, the balcony, and sat out in the breeze, on the cool concrete ground, thick city air still heavy in his lungs. It felt like he had the flu; ready to vomit, hot and cold, something wrong in his core.

A wicked craving he shouldn’t listen to, but did. He shut his eyes for the first drag, an unusual perfumed flavour filling him, making him reason that he must really be sick.

His eyes opened, and he wasn’t on the balcony anymore.

That same sickly pink, that thick perfume, a room warm and wet, a haze over everything. He was on a plush carpet, a low table within his arms reach, plates of snacks, a teapot, on it. He squinted into the darkness past it, and almost as if it was waiting for him, a chair came into view. A second after, a figure.

“Hey!” Bellamy called out, a strange reverb on his voice. “You’re in my mirror.”

The figure nodded. A mouth smiled, a mustache over lips, some kind of visor covering where eyes would go. They leaned towards him, extended a hand. The bracer on their arm had long glowing lines up it. Bellamy didn’t notice the inhumanity of their skin tone until he took their hand, shook it.

“Tron,” they said, voice low, quiet, an echo to it. “Bombus Tron.” A smile again as they leaned back, folded their hands over their belt line. “I know who you are, Bellamy,” they said, cutting him off. He swore they winked. “I’ve been watching.”

“Am I dreaming,” Bellamy whispered.

Bombus shrugged. “If that helps, sure.” Somehow, he could tell their gaze was pulled away from him, and they spoke again, to something past him. “You’re late.”

Bellamy looked over his shoulder.

Floating in mid-air, a paint blob of a person, drips falling off but dissolving in the air before hitting the ground. There was a blurble, the sound of a sink draining, but Bombus seemed to understand it.

“He’s us,” Bombus said, pointing at Bellamy. “Aren’t you, BT?”

Bellamy whipped his head around, about to demand why they knew that. All he could manage was “Only Andy calls me that!”

“Andy..?” Bombus repeated, then shook their head. “Alright. I didn’t bring you here to bicker, Bellamy.”

“Then why?”

Bombus gestured to the table, ending the flourish of their limb with a point to the lit cigarette in Bellamy’s hand. “For all our favourite things!”

A cheerful bloop behind him made Bellamy look. Watched teapot, cup, and saucer float up in the air, that perfume pouring out of the pot and into the cup. It floated towards Bellamy, a smile on the featureless face above him. Bellamy took the cup closest to him on the coffee table, and held it out for his serving.

Cup filled, he held it under his nose, inhaled. Like menthol, but not cooling. Refreshing. It cleared his head, cleared the humidity from the room.

Everything outside the three of them was still dark, still unknown, but everything in their little circle was clear. Bombus was leaning back in a plush chair, sipping their tea already. They were all clad in pink, legs outstretched and feet resting on the table. There was this ambient noise outside of their circle of light, other parties just like this talking indistinctly, cutlery and glassware clinking together, on tabled, but he couldn’t see any evidence.

Bellamy set down his cup, took a drag. Short and ineffective, letting the smoke billow out his mouth.

He didn’t feel sick anymore. Especially since now he knew he really was still seeing himself in the mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the lovely art my friend lula did  
> https://joybellsart.tumblr.com/post/180954737459/some-bombus-hanging-out-in-an-astral-lounge  
> i fucked up so heres the plain link orz


End file.
